


drinking sunshine (she likes the taste of it)

by frankieroed



Category: Bandom, Mindless Self Indulgence, My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Needles, gerard bein a dramatic fuck, mentions of past drug/alcohol abuse, recluse!gerard, tattoo artist!lynz, terrible grammar used in texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6639403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankieroed/pseuds/frankieroed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stupid friends and their stupid tattoos and their stupidly hot tattoo artists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drinking sunshine (she likes the taste of it)

**Author's Note:**

> Girl writes a fic after approximately six thousand years of nothing; hetero fluff, overuse of the italics button and background frikey ensues. More on the story at twelve.
> 
> Title from Red Hot Chili Peppers - Annie Wants A Baby
> 
> (im sorry if the writing is horrible im tired. let me know if there are any glaring errors.)

In theory, Gerard’s method of washing clothes probably wasn’t the best nor most effective. It involved a lot of staring at the pile that was slowly starting to form in the corner of the room and willing it to get up and walk itself to the washing machine. He considered the idea before jotting it down in a notebook he kept for comic book ideas on his bedside table, something along the lines of _‘radioactive laundry grows consciousness, runs rampant through Manhattan.’_

It wasn’t really an issue though as Gerard was, more or less, a hermit. He lived in a cruddy apartment on the second floor with peeling paint and a front door that jammed frequently. It was one bedroom and the rest was open plan, a kitchen sitting abandoned in the corner, mainly used to harbor dog food and three day old takeout. There was an old dog bed lounging beside the couch, covered in wiry hair from his beagle, Grave (he was a present from Mikey when he moved in).

There was an old lady with Alzheimer’s that mistook him for her dead husband on the rare times they saw each other and a couple above him that constantly seemed to be fighting loud enough for the entirety of Jersey to hear (but the moment Gerard cranks the volume from 11 to 12 on his shitty stereo playing Fear of the Dark, he was bombarded with noise complaints from the husband, threatening dick cutting and other equally terrifying punishments.). Although not completely conventional, it was nice and quaint and no one seemed to pay that much attention to his apartment, or his artwork, or him, really. And, best of all probably, he had no access to the drugs that had ruined him.

In reality, it was exactly what he had needed. Something away from the constant noise and buzzing and the crushing corporate atmosphere that had surrounded him during his time in college, along with the remaining stench of his own vomit. His textbooks were slowly being replaced by comics again and, if he was honest, the term ‘dropout’ never really bothered him.

For a while, he was worried about his mom. There were a lot of tears when he approached her with the subject and she still thought he should get back in, no matter how many times he insisted he  
okay. She was still upset about it, he could tell, but he needed to focus on his own life and staying sober and getting his old self back. He had found himself lost in the sea of people and powders and elicits and eventually, lost everything he was. He drowned. Most days he was really fucking thankful for his remaining friends that dragged him back to the surface and revived him before slapping him and letting him know he was an idiot, because that’s just what he needed to hear.

After pulling his head out of his own ass, he found himself living his life perfectly contently in his quiet suburbs. He was alone but he was beginning to find his footing in the world of art on his own and he was finally becoming happy again. Slightly bored, sure, but happy nonetheless.

Then Frank had to go and fuck it all up.

Gerard had tucked himself in the corner in the corner of his beat up couch ( _‘five dollars, come_ on _, Mikey, it’ll be good as new if I chuck a blanket on it’_ ) with an old issue of Doom Patrol and a cup of coffee when Frank had barged into his apartment, snatching  the coffee from Gerard’s grip and talking.

“So there’s this tattoo shop that just opened down on Brigade Ave, where the Barnes and Noble used to be, you know? And Pete was telling me about it because his new roommate works there and said it was crazy good. Like good music, happy people and fucking great tattoos. So, I need you to design me a tattoo, something not too flashy but not too bland, but I want it to be mine, something that’s really me, you know? I kind of want something religious and like spooky. He also said that the people there are totally your style, like all recluse and artsy and oh my god, did you shit in the coffee filter what the fuck is this?”

Gerard just sighed and said, “Fucking Pete Wentz.”

 

                                                                                                                                                        -------------------------------

 

Gerard had designed tattoos before, sure, and he enjoyed it. He enjoyed seeing the patrons face when they described the idea, the way their eyes lit up when he finished the roughest of sketches and, most of all, he enjoyed the notion that it would be on someone’s body forever. He would have even possibly considered becoming a tattoo artist if it didn’t involve needles. Maybe one day there would be some sort of tattoo gun that doesn’t involve needles. Something with pens and the human ability to absorb. He copies it down into the idea book.

He sketched a few ideas out, eventually landing on a religious looking lady with no eyes and multiple swords stabbing into a heart she held. He looked down at her with a small smile and added some bright colours.

_Yeah._ he thought, _this is Frank._

Upon showing it to said man, he received a lot of excited hugs and very manly squeaks.

“Gerard, Gerard oh my god, you’ve gotta come with me, oh my god.”

To which Gerard replied, “Fuck off.”

“C’mon man, seriously! This is fucking amazing, you’re coming with me and watching this shit become a part of my fucking body.” Frank liked to swear when he got excited.  “Plus, you gotta get yourself some more friend’s asshole. Ray, Mikey and I have been wearing ourselves thin.”

“If I’m that much of a bother, why don’t you guys just leave then?” Gerard snapped. Frank rolled his eyes.

“You know I don’t mean it like that, Gerard.” He did. “You need more people to talk to otherwise you’re gonna cut off the outside world man. I understand being social isn’t exactly your forte, but you gotta try.”

Gerard threw a cheese puff into Frank’s hair. _Take that,_ he thought, _I’m totally sociable._

                                                                                                                                                        -------------------------------

 

“Steve! Steve! Steven Righ, if you don’t get your ass out here in two seconds, I’m gonna drop kick you!” Lynz called across the store, furiously searching through one of her drawers.

“Whaddya want!?” Steve called back from the kitchenette in the back room.

“I want my gold ink, I gotta a customer coming in later who needs a lot of it.” Lynz said, walking to the door and leaning against the frame, arms crossed. Steve’s head popped around from the bathroom door that was wide open.

“Third shelf down, I only used a little.”

“Are you pissing right now?” Lynz asked, assessing his stance.

“Yeah.”

“Fucking gross, dude.” Lynz laughed and headed back up, greeting Chantal as she set up her own machine for the day.

 

                                                                                                                                                        -------------------------------

 

“No, no, go from 11th fret and hammer on to the 10th, then slide to the 9th then it’s 10 9 8 in succession. Yeah, no yeah.” Ray was lounging on Gerard’s bed (a mattress on the floor with a star wars blanket over it. It wasn’t a five star deal, but it was comfy and reminded him of home) and showing Frank a little interlude he was in the progress of making.

“That sounds awesome, what if we drop it to 4 then back up to 6 after?” Frank sat on the floor next to him, an old one of Gerard’s electrics that looked like it had seen better days in his lap. They were sort of all in a band together.

“Yeah, perfect.” Mikey played bass, Frank played rhythm guitar, Ray played leads and Gerard sort of sung. Screamed. Yelled. Flailed.

“So,” Frank stated, entering and dropping the bag he was holding. “When are you taking me to get my tattoo Gerard?”

Mikey snorted.

“Try never.” Gerard replied, not looking up from where he was furiously sketching what resembled a half decaying woman with flowers coming out of her oozing, bloody intestines. Frank leaned over, interested.

“Nice. You should add puss. No drawing is complete without puss.” Gerard hummed.

“What’re you getting this time?” Ray asked, diverting the conversation to tattoo talk. Frank launched into a long description of his Lady of Sorrows (a fondly given nickname for her), adding in the meaning and how ‘fucking awesome’ it looks.

“- so, since he designed it, he’s gotta come with me, right?” Frank buzzed, looking in Gerard’s direction. He appeared to be adding some form of blue mucus.

“I’m not gonna go watch you be stabbed repeatedly, with ink poured into the cuts and needles fucking entering you, Frank.” Gerard calmly stated, finally rising from his hunched position on the floor against the couch to sip from the coffee he had made earlier. He winced at the cold liquid and made a mental reminder to actually drink what he makes before it has time to grow mold next time.

“Best friend pact, man. You gotta do it.”

Groaning, Gerard helplessly looked to Mikey, who predictably shrugged, then to Ray who was bobbing along to a cd they had put in earlier and seemingly not paying attention as he tried to pick up a chord progression , and finally back to Frank who smirked and pointed to his left forearm where he had it planned to go.

He hated his friends.

 

                                                                                                                                                        -------------------------------

 

“Get up, get up, get up!!!” Frank bounced like an over-excited puppy onto Gerard’s mattress, his clammy hands everywhere, tickling and poking Gerard until he make a noise that was somewhat coherent to ‘fuck off’.

Eventually, he was persuaded out of bed with the promises of coffee and pop tarts, which Frank had set about making after Gerard had nearly hit his face with a weakly balled fist.

When the plates were clean and mugs were mostly empty except for a few grains that would no doubt still be there in two weeks, Frank chucked the keys for his car at Gerard (Gerard didn’t see the point in having his own car, seeing as he literally only left the house to get groceries from the supermarket down the street, go to flip through the record bins at the shop two lots down and to go to the comic shop on the corner. Usually if he was going to a friend’s, they picked him up.)

“You’re driving hotshot.”

Gerard sighed.

 

                                                                                                                                                        -------------------------------

 

Pink.

Gerard’s first thought was _what_ followed by _who the fuck names a tattoo parlor Pink?_

He took the outside in, the fading green from Barnes and Noble replaced with a shocking magenta, divided by some blue and green stripes. On the awning there was a glowing neon sign with the word PINK flickering in a lighter shade of pink than the walls. On the second step to the door there was an overflowing ashtray painted purple. He already felt at home.

Once inside, Gerard was immediately hit with the commotion and a strange smell of feijoas. There was a desk up front that appeared to have been covered in corrugated iron with a spray painted drawing of black Jesus on the front. He smiled, following Frank towards it and taking in the rest of his surroundings. On top of the counter there was a small black board with a words scrawled in messy, loopy writing.

‘ _Tattooistz in today:_

_Chantie_

_Lynz_

_Kitty_

_Ring the bell if no one’s here bitchez!’_

Next to Chantie there was a small heart, whilst Lynz had a robot and Kitty had a crudely drawn cat.

_Funny,_ Gerard thought, _if this is supposed to be a tattoo parlor you would at least expect the drawings to not suck._

He voiced this thought to Frank, who was flipping through the portfolio that sat on the bench. He giggled and smacked Gerard’s arm. There was an old couch to the right of where he came in that possibly was picked off the side of the street judging by the materials wear. The walls were covered in different detailed designs that Gerard would have loved to look at in more depth if Frank wasn’t yapping his ear off.

Behind the counter was a large room with a few black intimidating chairs scattered around. One was occupied by a large man getting something on his arm done by a woman with her black and blonde hair in a high ponytail. She was concentrating hard, gnawing her lip and furrowing her brow slightly. Gerard thought she was pretty cute. He wondered if who of the three names she was.

It appeared she was alone in the store as there was no one at the counter and no one at any of the stations. Gerard gingerly leant across and dinged the bell. Her head shot up, ears clearly accumulated to the sound of it. A big grin spread across her face when she saw the two men.

“Sorry, didn’t see you fellas! I’ll get someone on you right now.” She swung around on the stool she was on and called out.

“JAMES! CUSTOMERS!”

There was a shout, a crash before a man in a sleeveless, pink tracksuit top with pink jeans came tumbling out of the back room, giggling.

“Lynz is tearing it up at DDR. Bitch is a robot, I swear.” He said, flicking the tattooist’s ponytail as he walked past. From the back room, Gerard heard a snort before someone yelled back; “Your mum’s a bitch robot.”

James giggled before stationing himself behind the counter, tapping on a computer, and finally looking up at Frank and Gerard.

“One of you lads is Frank Iero then?” Frank nodded, raising his hand.

“Sweet. I’m Jimmy, I own this shit hole. Your lovely tattoo artist today will be Lynz. Don’t talk to her about aliens or capitalism otherwise she won’t ever shut up, make as many that’s what she said jokes as you want and don’t fuck with her. She’s brutal.” Frank giggled and settled himself onto a seat, picking at some fraying threads on the side of the chair. Finding a smaller seat, Gerard sat himself next to Frank and smacked his hand.

He was half expecting some large, Romanian lady with a thick accent to come out of the back room when Jimmy said he’d go fetch her. What he wasn’t expecting was a woman in a short skirt and a button down shirt to come out, hand hidden in her black hair as she tied it into a ponytail. _Huh,_ he thought, _okay._

She walked past Jimmy, saying something about capitalists being everywhere, Gerard didn’t know, he wasn’t really listening. He was focused on the slight flash of collar bone that poked out from under her shirt, her bright red lips that contrasted with her dark eyes and _huh,_ Gerard thought.

The thing was, along with the title of recluse, he had put it upon himself that he would be single forever. He felt that the only way he could do any amount of flirting was when he was pissed off his face, and the only way he could connect to another human romantically was through a shared needle. All his previous girlfriends had been as fucked up as he was, if not more, and he didn’t really know a love that was united through drugs. Once he got sober, he decided that he really, _really,_ didn’t need a partner because he had friends and an awesome fucking brother and he had five limited edition X-Men comics, so fuck love.

Which is why, when he saw Lynz smile at the two, introduce herself and ask who was about to get tortured today and his stomach did this stupid drop thing, he was incredibly confused. And slightly nervous, what the fuck. He was pretty sure Frank introduced them both but his head felt like it was underwater.

Frank was laughing at something Lynz had said before waving his arms and starting explain the tattoo. She nodded politely and studied the design, tracing it with one of her bitten down nails and nibbling at the corner of her bottom lip.

“This is really fucking cool.” She finally said, setting it down and getting out some tracing paper she needed to make a stencil of the design. “Did you draw it?”

“Oh, no way I suck balls at drawing. Gerard did! That’s why he’s here actually, I had to drag him out of his house.” Frank chuckled at Gerard’s face as he tried to stutter out an explanation, the bastard.

“Not like literally drag me out, of course, like I go out on my own. Sometimes. But that’s not the point, I do leave, but I think he means because I’m really shit scared of needles. Like I might puke. Don’t worry, not on you. But like I’d be covered in tattoos if I wasn’t. Afraid of them, you know? And if I had the money because the fuckers are expensive like. Yeah.” He ended rather unspectacularly, mentally peeling the skin from his face and throwing himself out a garbage chute. Frank was laughing silently at the freak show Gerard was and itching at the area he was about to get inked. Lynz just looked rather amused, one eyebrow raised, head turned slightly in his direction as she swiftly sketched.

“Yeah, we charge shit loads, but you know if you want quality ink, you gotta get it done right.” She said, looking between the two drawings. _Great,_ Gerard thought, _now I sound like an asshole._ However instead of smoothing that conversation over with some witty remark that would make her throw down all her instruments of torture (Hell instruments. Neat. Gerard made a note to write that down in the book) and climb directly onto his lap, demanding him to take her to his house and complimenting his art the entire time, he made some sort of noise at the back of his throat and looked at his hands folded in his lap.

“Alright, Frank, looks like we’re ready to go!” Lynz stated, after five minutes or so of quiet conversation between her and Frank, Gerard laughing every now and then out of respect.

“Finally.” Frank sighed dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead. Lynz laughed, loud and unashamed, and slapped his chest.

  
“That wasn’t an easy design asshole,” she stated as she began to wipe down Franks arm with rubbing alcohol. Great, just fucking great, of course Frank was gonna score with this hot tattooist. Gerard was sure that when shit went south he would be left to pick up the pieces and all chances he may have had with her would be gone. He sighed to himself, picking at a hole in his jeans.

He was okay, up until the machine actually came out because, oh my god, that’s a big needle. That’s a lot of big needles and since when was breathing this hard.

In his defense, he lasted a grand total of two minutes before making his excuses and running for the fucking hills. Pretty much. Well, he pulled out his phone, stuttered that someone was calling him (even though the phone was clearly turned off) and leaving hastily, nearly knocking a big man with bigger hair as he slipped out and into a side alley, holding his head in his hands and reminding himself to _fucking breathe damnit._

He slid down the wall miserably and prayed to the heavens that someone, _anyone_ , would come along and put him out of his misery.

 

                                                                                                                                                        -------------------------------

 

“You did WHAT?”

“I gave her your number, dude, a thank you is appropriate.” Gerard was speechless. Actually, genuinely, speechless. He slumped into his couch, where Frank was bouncing excitedly on the opposite side, tracing his new tattoo.

“I- you- what- fuck.” There was no way this was happening. He reached over and slapped a hand against Frank’s forehead, ignoring his protests. “I’m just checking you don’t have a fucking fever, what the fuck? She doesn’t even know me, she could be a serial killer that ties all her potential dates down and then forces them to take needles in every orifice!” ( _Orifice killer,_ he noted, _that’s going in the book.)_

“But she’s most likely not. And besides, you’re probably into bondage. I could see you in a pleather suit. Maybe a whip. Oh, oh, and a paddle. Come get over my knee right now.” Frank giggled, studying Gerard like he was envisioning it. Gerard fixed him with his most menacing stare, usually reserved for when Mikey spills something on his art or comics. He’s been told it makes him look like a dying snail. “Sorry man. Hey, do you know if your brother is into bondage?”

Gerard was actually going to throw up.

“Oh my God, Frank. Yes, I do know and no I don’t want to know when you find out the answer. Can we focus on the problem at hand, please? Did you see the way I acted back there? You should’ve taken a walrus prone to seizures and it would have done a better job than I did.”

 Frank pouted.

“But I don’t want a walrus, I want Gerarrrddd.” He dragged out Gerard’s name, finally settling on the couch and resting his head in Gerard’s lap. Stupid friends and their stupid tattoos and their stupidly hot tattoo artists.

He groaned and planted his head in his hands. Frank snorted and patted his back.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll finally find your way out of that weird world of yours and start living it up over here.”

“I don’t think I want to if I’m honest.” Gerard grumbled

 

                                                                                                                                                        -------------------------------

 

_‘i hear u do a mean dolly parton impression. i will pay u 10 bucks to serenade me w/ joline :^)’_

The text arrived at 2:37 am the next day. Gerard didn’t even have to question who it was, despite the number not being registered in his phone because _oh my god_ why was Frank obsessed with telling everyone about that one karaoke night. He muted the episode of Downtown Abbey playing and scratched behind Grave’s ear before responding.

_‘depends rly. im better at yodeling :p’_

_‘i dont discriminate. any form of serenading is wlcmed.’_

So, that’s how Gerard found himself in a conversation with awesomelyhotholyfuck Lynz from Pink tattoo parlor and somehow ended up discussing the decline in the sizes of Dorito bags.

And it was just talking, really.

Just words.

Exchanging of vocabulary.

Gerard was fucking living for it.

They ended up exchanging texts for about the next week, sometimes full blown conversations about which Halo game was best (Gerard said 3 and he was definitely right, even if Lynz wasn’t so sure. The graphics in the original were nowhere near as good as 3) or over which brand of oil pastels was best for canvas work (Gerard said Holbein. Lynz said Sennelier. Things got heated.), sometimes it was just random jumbles of words or song lyrics that led to nothing ( _‘steve just threw up. again. it smells like ravioli. send help.’)._

This was great. It was all Gerard really wanted. The thing that agitated him, screamed in his ear every time his phone went off was, firstly, Why! Is! She! Talking! To! Me! Because Gerard was shy and nerdy and watched Downtown Abbey alone with Grave resting on his lap at 2:37 am and, probably worst of all, Gerard was a fucking loser. And Lynz was taking time out of her fucking day to tell him about her cats uneven meowing, stating it was probably a sign saying the Armageddon was upon them all (she was seriously fucking _awesome._ Gerard wrote _Armageddon predicting cats_ into his book). He figured it was some sort of pity thing.

Secondly, he was constantly left feeling like a twat when he didn’t ask to actually meet her again, face to face. It wasn’t that he was waiting for her to ask, that would probably spook him worse, it was more that every time he typed out anything remotely involving the subject, he got flashes of her immediately shutting him down, going to laugh at his pathetic ass with her cool as fuck coworkers, probably running off to go fuck a cooler, hotter, funnier guy, eventuating in him deleting the text shamefully, like the coward he was.

Finding the predicament more than he was able to cope with, he did what he always did when he was faced with any sort of problem that involved a girl, boy or animal.

He called Mikey.

“You’re an actual idiot, you know that right?” Was the first thing Mikey stated once Gerard had stopped whining pitifully about his problems with Lynz and texting and general fucking interaction.

“Little brothers are replaceable and no one would find your body, you know that right?”

 “Wow, okay, you’re really hung up on this chick, huh?” Gerard clenched his teeth.

“She’s not just a _chick_ , Mikey, she’s Lynz.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, your robot girl, sure. Well, I think you and me both know the answer Gee.”

He was right, as fucking usual. Also, _robot girl,_ that one was going in his book.

Mikey continued, “Ask her out to that weird public art show this weekend, I’ll write the fucking message if I have to. If she says yes, that’s great you can take her to a fucking gallery and make little art babies. If she says no and laughs in your face, we find her address, egg her house and never go to that parlour ever again.”

Gerard giggled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror (where he was poking his face because if he was taking this girl out, uh, hello, zits are a no. This isn’t 10th grade.)

“You know I would never replace you, right Mikes?”

“Yeah, one of us has to be the cute one in this relationship.” Gerard snorted at that, finally feeling a little less sorry for himself and moving towards the kitchen, deciding on curry for dinner, and trying to figure out whether he still had jasmine rice anywhere.

“Of course.”

“Hey, do you know what Frankie’s doing tonight?” Gerard screwed up his face because, ew, ‘Frankie’ and ew, Frank and Mikey.

“Nope. And if his plans suddenly change because you text him after this, I really, really, don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you Gee, I’m gonna go get dick.”

“You’re disgusting.” Gerard hung up, making a satisfied noise as he uncovered an ancient bag of rice, deciding that hey, his life might not be the worst.

 

                                                                                                                                                        -------------------------------

 

“Stop mooning.” Lynz snapped her head over to Kitty who was smirking at her and watching her eat her Chinese takeout.

“I’m not mooning. You’re mooning.”

“It’s that boy, isn’t it? What’s his name, Gerald? Grover?” Lynz rolled her eyes, lifting her carton to hide the blush dusting her face.  
“Gerard. And I’m just sitting here, man. Mooning is for saps. I am not a sap.” Kitty snorted.

“Yeah, yeah, Romeo, go kiss your princess.”

Lynz flicked a piece of mushroom at Kitty and didn’t didn’t didn’t think of Gerard (although maybe she did.)

 

                                                                                                                                                        -------------------------------

 

Suave was nice. Suave was good. Suave was what Gerard wanted to land on when he began writing out the message. He ended up with something slightly weedy sounding and _good God_ he was lame.

‘ _hey, ive been thinkin n i dont kno if u heard abt the art show this weekend at the plaza but i was wondering if u wanted to come with me 2 it? it totally doesnt have to be a date if u dont want it to be :^))’_

He was a fucking idiot and sounded like he was fifteen again which, God, he did not want to think about being fifteen again.

 His finger hesitated despite Frank, Mikey and Ray’s assurances the wording was fine, but then he remembered that life was short, time was linear, in the end, it didn’t really matter what she said. He thought _’fuck it’_ and hit send.

 

                                                                                                                                                        -------------------------------

 

Lynz’s report card when she was in high school contained straight A’s and B’s 99% of the time. She caught onto concepts fast and understood physics like second nature. She could write a banging essay in half an hour, won six math competitions and, of course, took out every art prize she could. Which didn’t explain why she was being so _fucking stupid._

Gerard was cute.

Lynz liked cute people.

So, when Gerard asked her to go the art show she was considering ditching because she had no one to arrive with, she leapt at the opportunity.

_‘i wuld love to go on a date with u gerard. i thought id have to send a plane with a banner on the back to get u to pick up the hints i was putting down.’_

Unfortunately, she was left half dressed in her bedroom on the Saturday night of the showing because her entire wardrobe apparently hated her.

_Too thick, too thin, too eighties, too nineties, too big, this is ridiculous, I think this is a babies outfit._ Her inner monologue protested as she slumped against her closet, a black skirt on her hips and a white loose singlet on her top.

“Trouble?”

“I think my clothes are planning on taking me out.” Lynz responded without turning around to face her roommate, Pete.

“Clothes are troublesome things. Go naked.” She rolled her eyes and bent down to dig around again because maybe, _maybe,_ there was something she missed.

“Move, lemme find you something. When’re you leaving?”

“Five minutes ago.” She sighed.

“Shit. Go do your hair quickly and be ready to run.” Lynz smiled at Pete, her first real smile, and decided she loved her friends before dashing past him towards her dresser.

Three and a half minutes later, her hair was tamed (enough), her lipstick was applied and Pete was attempting to shove her into a pair of high waisted shorts. She was laughing loudly, ignoring her pre-date butterflies as she leaned on his shoulder. He threw an old Madonna shirt of his at her and left, saying he was going to get her purse for her and possibly going to steal any gum it contained, stating it was payment for his fashion advice.

Once finally dressed and ready to leave, she was officially ten minutes late. With a pat on the head like a fucking mother to her school kid from Pete, she left, already tapping out an apology to Gerard and organizing her keys.

_‘its ok, take ur time. theres a hobo thats trying to bum five dollars off me, do i fund him?’_

She smiled, deciding this guy was something worth whatever stress may come.

 

                                                                                                                                                        -------------------------------

 

Gerard, despite his amazing smoothness (yeah right) and his great looks (pfft), had not been on many dates. Which was why when Lynz sent him a text as he was waiting outside the gallery saying she was running late, he called Mikey.

“You, ah, seriously need to stop coming to me with your girl problems, Gee.” Mikey said when he picked up, not even letting Gerard say a word. In the background someone that sounded suspiciously like Frank piped up, saying something along the lines of _‘are you seriously talking to your brother right fucking now.’_

“She’s late Mikey, she just text me saying she’s late. Does that mean she’s bailing?”

“No, ah fuck Frank, no it means she’s fucking late you tool.” Mikey groaned and Gerard wanted to brain himself on the brick wall against his back.

“Are you seriously getting a blow job right now?”

“You called me, dude.” Mikey panted as Gerard turned to face the shop, assessing who was inside. They looked fancy. Gerard grimaced. In his reflection he looked over his clothing choice. A plain red plaid button down and skinny jeans. These people were going to fucking _marvel_ at him. He really hoped Lynz hadn’t dressed up.

“Okay, that’s disgusting. Tell Frank he’s disgusting. Tell me what his blow job skills are like later. Shit, I think she’s pulling up right now. Bye. Wish me luck. Never sex call me again.”

“Technically I only sex answere-“ Gerard shuddered and hung up, resting his head against the wall next to his head and wondering when life got this _fucked_.

“Who’s sex calling you? Is there a side chick I should be worried about?” Lynz’s voice came from behind him. He swung around and fuck okay, she was even more stunning than he remembered. Breathing might have been an issue because that’s a Madonna shirt and of course she could make dressed down look fucking phenomenal.

“No, no, just a little brother getting a blow job.” He laughed nervously and _seriously Gerard, little brother’s sex life isn’t on the agenda here._ Luckily, Lynz just laughed and linked her arm through Gerard’s, walking them towards the front door.

“It’s okay. My roommate always feels the need to wake me up at 2 am to tell me all about his sexcapades too. There’s only so many metaphors about bony hips and cat tails one can take you know?”

Gerard did know.

“That’s what you get for voluntarily rooming with Pete Wentz. That dude is made of language features and sex.” Lynz let out a loud laugh as they entered the building, earning some pointed glares from old people trying to decipher the art. Gerard, for once in his life, didn’t feel ashamed as people stared.

He laughed louder.

Although Gerard had only been on a handful of dates, (a few awkward arcade trips in high school and a few romantic trips to the ER when someone accidently overdosed in the small group of ‘friends’ (junkies) he had accumulated in his college days) this was by far the best.

 There was a slight underlying fear of awkward silences, however Lynz crushed that wariness with her assessments of the art ( _‘this looks like Martha Stewart had a stroke onto a canvas.’_ ) and her stupid awesomeness.

“Do you think if I took this down and replaced it with some chewing gum they’d notice?” Gerard asked Lynz at a sculpture that looked like a pile of sticks with dog shit on it.

 Somehow, in a blur of pretentious people and art that could only be described as modern, their hands had managed to slip together, Gerard quickly finding out that Lynz liked to squeeze his grip unashamedly when she got excited and _wow okay_ Gerard thought to himself, _I think I want to spend every day with this girl._

“Probably not. I wouldn’t recommend it though, that security guard has been eyeing us since we came in. I think he expects us to start fucking on one of the sculptures.”

Gerard huffed a laugh and looked toward the door where, yes, there was a burly man with his arms crossed completely ignoring the pair of ladies to his left poking at a piece in favour of staring down the young couple.

“Just ‘cause I can keep it up better than all the men in this room.”

“We’re under the age of 65, Gerard, legally we are sexual deviants.” Gerard giggled, a sound usually reserved for Frank when he was doing something stupid with his food, Mikey when he made one of his stupidly dry comments that were hilarious or Ray when he got that look as Frank climbed him like the Empire State Building.

He looked down to Lynz and _wow_ he felt like the luckiest fucking man on earth because he was on a date with this woman and he really couldn’t wrap his head around that concept. It was a first date but it didn’t really feel like it.

“This is weird.” He stated, leading her towards a painting of a dog divided at multiple sections.  
“The dog? It looks a bit cut up, maybe it forgot to take its vitamins.”

“No, not the dog. Us. I feel like I’ve known you forever.” Gerard faced Lynz, leaning on a post barricading the public from the art.

“Maybe we used to know each other but the government separated us, because we clicked so well and it was a threat to Obama. Or we were probably working for NSA and workplace romance was forbidden. Or maybe we just met in another life. Like, circa 1854, I was a bar maid and you were a patron that stole my heart. Or something to that effect.” Lynz shrugged, like the concept had crossed her mind before.

Instead of coming back with a witty response, or even pulling out is phone to make a note of _‘circa 1854 NSA workers’_ to write in his book later, Gerard kissed her.

She made a surprised noise like she wasn’t expecting it at all, like she didn’t realise how amazing she was and what amazing things she was doing to him.

Relaxing into it, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned towards him. That was it, Gerard officially decided he was the luckiest asshole in the world and no one could tell him different. He also spontaneously decided that kissing when you weren’t on six kinds of drugs was actually pretty fucking awesome. That might have just been Lynz’s effect on him.

Gerard never wanted to take back his arms from where the rested around her hips, holding her close and he felt like a fucking creep because she smelt like rubber gloves and nutmeg and he fucking revelled in it. He would’ve overcome his needles fair to get that scent injected into his bloodstream.

Never in his life had he felt as good as he did, making out in the middle of an art showing with no doubt people photographing them because they really did look like part of the exhibition. Well, he thought Lynz looked like a work of art but that was a different story.

She pulled back first and Gerard may have a taken a second or so to reopen his eyes because _wow._ He was struggling to think of any other word for what affect Lynz was having on him.

“Wanna get out of here? There’s an ice cream shop down the road that serves fantastic cookies ‘n’ cream.” She asked, still leaning in close to Gerard and he was fucking drowning in everything, her eyes, her scent, her fucking (now slightly smeared) lipstick. Gathering himself back together, he attempted to answer the best he could.

“I’m more of a boysenberry guy myself but I think that security guard is going to have an aneurism if we stay any longer.” Lynz giggled and linked their fingers again, rubbing the pad of her thumb against the skin on Gerard’s hand and tugging him towards the door.

Fucking friends and their fucking tattoos and their fucking amazing tattooists.

 

                                                                                                                                                        -------------------------------

 

“I told you, didn’t I, I _said_ she was into you!” Frank exclaimed, setting up his amp and jumping excitedly. Gerard rolled his eyes and set about helping Mikey carry his shit in.

“Yeah, sure Frank. Go help Ray get his pedals in.” Frank obediently ran off. The anticipation of a show combined with the excitement was doing a fairly good job at sedating him, Gerard thought.

It was the first official show for their band and they were all quietly freaking out. It was also Gerard and Lynz’s second official date and, if he was honest, Gerard was more excited about seeing her than anything else.

“How are my rock stars?” Lynz came in from the cold just as the guys finished up a quick soundcheck, jumping on stage carrying two trays of coffee and handing them out to everyone, who all thanked her profusely, naming her the queen of the universe and all coffee relate things. She laughed and sat on the drum riser whilst the guys milled around, Mikey wandering backstage and Frank flitting around Ray (who was waving him away like a mosquito). Gerard sat next to Lynz and rested his head on her shoulder.

“Nervous?” She asked, no accusation in her tone, just reassurance.

“A little.” Gerard’s voice was quieter than usual. The only thing left to worry about was the churning in his gut over _oh my god performing in front of people._ To be fair, those people were here for the main band (JX-47) and probably wouldn’t give a fuck if the openers sucked but, still. _People._ Gerard shuddered.

Lynz scratched her fingers through Gerard’s shoulder length (unwashed) black hair and sipped her latte.

“You know, I still get nervous every time I go to do a tattoo.” Lynz stated softly.

“Seriously? Haven’t you been tattooing for like six years?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t stop me from worrying about fucking up. Don’t get too worked up about it, you’ll be more likely to mess up.” Lynz said as Gerard moved his head to rest his chin on her shoulder and study her side profile. “I think the best thing to do is give it all you’ve got. The end result is always, so, so worth it. Who knows, you might inspire a few kids tonight.”

Gerard snorted.

“We’re just the openers. We might inspire a few of them to buy more booze.” She smiled this secret, knowing smile that Gerard was yet to be able to read and kissed his nose.

“You never know. You’re pretty fucking inspiring.” She threw out, before rising and heading over to Steve, Jimmy, Kitty and Chantal who had just walked into the bar. Gerard watched her walk away, sipping contentedly at his cup and making a mental reminder to write _‘Cool tattooed girl pairs with loser boy to make a power couple, fighting crime with art and their sense of humour’_ into his book.

“You’re a lucky man, Way.” Ray declared as he tugged at Gerard’s sleeve, leading them backstage as kids started entering the building.

“I know.” Gerard responded, throwing one final look over his shoulder to where Lynz was laughing loudly at something Chantal had said and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, eyes shyly rising to meet his. “I really fucking am.”

**Author's Note:**

> well that happened
> 
> comments, kudos and constructive shit is welcomed!! please love me
> 
> you can find me at deadricky.tumblr.com, come talk to me about the summer of like and steve righ's haircuts


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